Raise hell
by borsniel
Summary: An assassin forced to fight for good, a man found alone in the wilderness, a raging Moe blob and an emo gunman must join forces to try and survive the trials of Beacon, as well as each other. join team RASE as they turn Beacon upside down nineteen years before the start of volume one in a wild journey containing humor, action, adventure, romance, and much angst.
1. Prolouge - R

Roland's theme: NO SCARED by One OK Rock

the thump of distant bass could be heard reverberating through the streets and alleys of downtown vale, signaling the merriment of those currently inside the many bars and dance clubs littering the downtown section of the city. Standing outside one of these clubs two men were disusing their futures within the old fortress city, one wishing to fade into obscurity, the other hoping to make it big.

"Come on Roland, you got to admit it I have potential here." The first one states to his shorter companion. He is a tall man but retains a boyish face revealing his young age. He is dressed in a simple set of dress clothes consisting of black slacks and a black vest, as well as a white dress shirt. A simple black tie completes the outfit.

"I'll believe it when I see it junior, till then you best do what the boss says and get this stuff to the deli across town." The young man identified as Roland answers while tossing a paper bag to the other man. Roland is dressed in a pair of black slacks with a dark crimson shirt matched with a black tie. He wears a black fedora and black sunglasses on his head. Slung over his average sized shoulders is a thick trench coat, odd for the warm weather.

"No! I really mean it one day I'm goanna be big you just wait and see. Ill own my own club and have my own gang and everything." The younger man says as he stomps his foot in frustration at the other man's indifference.

"Uh huh" is Roland's non comitial reply as he turns his back and begins to stroll into the parking lot waving over his shoulder as he leaves with one final remark. "When you do make sure to hire a pair of twin hotties as personal body guards, that's when ill believe it."

Walking towards his parked dust cycle at the far end of the lot, Roland is surprised to feel a soft vibration in his jacket pocket. Fishing out the phone and looking at the number he groans in frustration. It's another job from his masters, being the dog on a chain is certainly an annoyance. Glancing through the text message for the details as he puts his keys in the ignition, he mentally takes down the requirements before deleting it. A dock manger in the industrial district is his target this time. What the man did to deserve his death, be it mistreatment of workers or getting a hard earned promotion over someone else Roland neither knows nor cares. It's just a job.

As Roland approaches the warehouse on the waterfront he pulls his bike into a nearby alley, so as not to alert the target inside the building with its noise. Tossing a black tarp he retrieved from the side storage compartment over it to further conceal it he makes his way down the remaining three blocks. Approaching a side door on the loading docks of the building he scans the area for anyone who would witness what he was about to do. Snapping his fingers a six inch gout of blue flame, hissing like a blowtorch, extends form his palm. Gripping the flame as if it were a dagger, he simply slices through the lock on the door before sliding it open. Calmly striding through the building and noting nothing of interest, before making his way towards the offices in the middle of the building.

With glaring intensity the overhead lights burst into life bathing the interior of the building with a blinding white light. Rolling his flame into an icepick grip to better cover his defense Roland makes note of this new development. For a short moment it seems quiet before all hell breaks loose. The machinery placed along the walls that Roland took for work equipment jump to life revealing themselves as armed security drones. Each one standing about 7ft tall and armed with both a dust sabre and belt fed machine gun they pose a formidable threat to the completion of his job. The drones open fire as one, shell casings flying through the air like confetti. Shimmering blue flames leap around Roland, snapping to deflect the incoming rounds as Roland points his left hand at the nearest drone. Forming his hand into the shape of a gun as fire begins to form at the tip of his pointer finger before lancing out and melting the drone's gun, Taking aim at the other two drones Roland fires twice more disabling the other guns as well before snapping his right arm out and allowing his dagger to extend into a full length sword. Their guns disabled the droids rush forward seeking to take down their foe with blades. Side stepping the first blow Roland brings his blade to bear severing the blade of his foe and fully releasing it of its weaponry. After repeating this for the next two drones Roland rolls into a crouch after dodging a vicious kick form one of the droids before pointing his left hand at them again. A burst of blue flame envelops all three targets before rendering them little more than half melted sculptures upon a now glass floor.

A soft clapping echoes through the now silent building drawing Roland's attention. Standing in the middle of the floor is a man in his early thirty's. Messy black hair and a pair of black spectacles adorn his face, while a black suit with a green under shirt and scarf make up his outfit. Snapping up his left hand Roland fires off a trio of flaming bolts striking the man once in the face and twice more in the chest. The man recoils and collapses in pain before falling to the ground unmoving. Approaching the corpse Roland feels a hand on his shoulder. Whipping around he slashes through the air cutting the person behind him with his blade. As Roland gets a look at the man he realizes it is the same man he just shot. Snapping back around to the other body Roland realizes that it is no longer there. Turning around to look at the second corpse Roland finds only an empty floor. The soft clack of a cane on concrete alerts him to another presence. Spinning around to locate the noise Roland once again finds the man alive and well before him.

Clearing his throat the man address Roland for the first time. "Roland Durendal, age 18, charged with arson, breaking and entering, attempted murder, murder, grand theft auto, armed robbery, and jaywalking among others." The man drawls as if he is reciting something form memory. "In addition you are an enforcer of the vale city kings, a criminal gang known to operate within the city and kingdom. And finely suspected to be the infamous breaker flame of the holy order of assassins, known for no less than 40 counts of murder, at least those are the ones we have found. You don't usually leave much evidence do you."

"So you've done your research on me, who the hell are you?" Roland answers while leveling his hand at the man again.

"Ah I'm sorry I've forgot my manners, my name is Oscar Isaac Ozpin, new head master of Beacon Academy." Says Ozpin as he bows. "I am here to make you a simple offer, join my school and work for a period of ten years as a hunter of Vale, or die here."

"I don't think so" growls Roland, a brilliant blue flame ignites across his right eye as a wave of pressure envelops the room. Roland's form begins to waver as if a strong heat were pulsing form it, small flecks of flames snapping off here and there. Light begins to coalesce at the tip of his finger bathing the room in a brilliant blue tint before going out for a split second. A blazing bolt of energy surges forth from his finger streaking towards Ozpin while leaving the concrete floor it passes over a pool of liquid glass.

With a simple wave of his cane Ozpin extinguishes the incoming bolt of blue flame. Sighing wearily he addresses Roland, "while impressive, I had hoped that it would not come to this."

Quite frankly, Roland is stunned. Sure that attack has been avoided before, but it has NEVER just been stopped, let alone seemingly effortlessly. Quickly regaining his composure Roland surges forward bringing his blade to bear on Ozpin. With yet another longwinded sigh Ozpin brings his cane up to block, halting Roland's forward momentum before breaking form his relaxed stance with a left jab. Blue flames snap forward to defend Roland, but these are quickly dissipated by Ozpin's fist. With a sickening crunch Ozpin's first impacts Roland's sternum flashing green with the strength of his aura as Roland is thrown into the wall on the opposite side of the building. The flame over Roland's right eye flickers and dies as his breathing becomes shallow. Gingerly touching his chest, Roland confirms that he most likely has more than a couple of broken ribs.

"This is the last time I will make my offer." Ozpin states with a grin adorning his features.

"Guess I really don't have much of a choice do I." Roland responds with a cruel glare directed at the ground. "What are the terms?"

"Simple, enroll in Beacon Academy and complete your four years of training. After doing so serve ten years in the Kingdom of Vale's hunter corps, doing so will erase all records of your crimes up to this point, assuming that is you don't get yourself into more trouble. If you are expelled from my academy for any reason then I will personally see to it that you are disposed of." Ozpin states while leaning casually on his cane. "Do we have deal?"

Roland directs his withering glare upwards towards the headmaster. "Why?" he spits with disgust "why do you want me to join your precious school?"

Ozpin simply grins while looking down his nose at the man before him. "Because, I believe you can be useful to the fight against the grim. I would much rather not throw away a perfectly good weapon simply due to a little defect or two. Now do you accept my offer, or will I have wasted my night waiting in this dingy warehouse for you to arrive?"

"I accept, not as though I have much of a choice." Roland states with a sigh.

Ozpin removes a simple envelope from his breast pocket, tossing it onto Roland's lap. Turning around Ozpin begins walking towards the exit of the warehouse. Roland struggles to his feet and begins making his way back to his parked dust cycle. It was going to be a little rough in the coming days….

**A/N: Hell all my name is Borsniel and I just wanted to introduce myself to you all. The story you have just finished the first chapter of is based off the events of a Pathfinder game that I run for my friends every Friday night. With their approval and help we have decided to share the joy we have with our game with other. For a little background info the story is set 19 years before the start of volume one and will be exploring many themes, including romance, adventure, action, drama, tragedy, and humor. In addition it will be delving into some interesting topics regarding the RWBY world, such as what are grim, where did they come from, why by volume one is the world at peace, and may others. I hope you all enjoy it though due to being OC centric I doubt I will get many if any views, so all who do are much appreciated. One of my players runs a youtube account where you will be able to listen to the direct crazy that is one of my games , while another will be posting a comic to go along with this story as well as the cover art. Both of these will be linked on my profile page for those who are interested. Thanks again. **


	2. Prolouge - A

Anya's theme: monster by imagine dragons

Dead silence filters through the combat hall as two opponents prepare to face off. This is it, everything is all on the line for these two, the winner will get to attend beacon academy, and the loser will have to wait until next year or give up on their dreams of being a part of Vale's hunter corps. The tension in the room is thick; sweat clings to both of the competitors as they prepare for the battle. At one end of the hall stands a rather small girl, she stands roughly five foot two and is wearing a deep red heavy leather jacket over her slim shoulders. She wears a matching pair of red leather combat boots, with black leggings that cut off below the knees. Ending just below the knee is a pale blue skirt mated with her pale blue blouse. Her pinkish red hair is done up in a pair of pig tails, the few lose strands being held behind her ears by a stylish pair of tinted glasses. Her weapon is a large triangular piece of metal, sharpened to a wicked edge, scrolled down its blade is its name, Nightmare. Mounted along the top of the blade is the barrel of a massive twenty millimeter cannon, the rotating bolt of the weapon sits just before the handle of the sword where beat up old leather wraps around the grip. The weapon can most easily be described as crude and barbaric as if the builder was not fully sure of what they were doing when it was constructed.

The girl's enemy is slim boy standing just barley five feet eight, wearing a black long coat with a hood concealing his facial features. The garment covers his entire body and is closed at the front as if camouflaging a secret of some kind; his hands hold a simplistic bolt action rifle, its dark wood stock blending in with his black coat as he loads gleaming brass rounds into its internal magazine. The tension in the air is thick as the boy adjusts the black bandana obfuscating his features aside from his pale skin and pure black eyes. The fighters take their positions and wait for their mark, sweat beading on their foreheads as they shook with the anticipation.

_BZTTTTTT_

The ringer for the fight to begin sounds through the silent hall, both fighters bring their weapons to bear.

_Crack_

Pain shoots through her arm as the bullet slams against her aura, the limb falling limply to her side rendered useless by the shock of the blow. With a roar of anguish she charges her foe while attempting to bring her oversized blade to bear on her opponent. The blade drags across the floor, her small frame unable to lift it with just one arm. Her enemy pulls back; his simplistic rifle trained on her as he rolls the bolt, spent shell casing tumbling through the air to fall on the ground. With a screech she drags the blade in a wide arc over her head, only to have him simply side step the attack before continuing his retreat. His long black hooded jacket flares out behind him as he rapidly shifts into a roll before aiming his rifle again.

_Crack_

The round slams into her pale blue aura again, this time striking her leg. She howls in agony as she is forced to one knee, using her blade to support her frail weight. Her deep red combat jacket pools around her feet as her red combat boots try to gain traction on the tile floor of the combat hall. Her slim glasses fly from her face as she screams with rage as she tries to stand. Her body sakes with fatigue as she forces herself to rise, she has to win, this is her last chance.

_BZZZT_

The buzz of the bell rings throughthe hall, blaring loudly in her ears, announcing the end of the final trial. A teacher walks onto the floor to announce the winner. The teacher clears his throat as he begins to make the announcement, "in the bout between Samuel Smith and Anya Marin, I hereby announce that the winner is, Samuel Smith." Applause from the spectators floods the combat hall, but Anya can hear none of it. Her aura surges repairing her damaged limbs as she limps towards her discarded glasses. The lenses are shattered and now useless, just as she feels.

Making her way out the door, she trudges towards her locker. This was her last chance at attending beacon like her grandmother did. She had failed and there was nothing more to say. As she cleans out her locker, she can hear the hateful comments. Freak, creep, weirdo, these are just a few of the insults whispered by other students passing by. Her time at Signal Academy has seen more than one hateful rumor spread about her, though she has learned to simply ignore it. After she finishes cleaning out her things she takes a bus to vale international airport where she catches a ride home. Home, if it can be called that, she knows her parents fear her, her semblance is strange, though she shares it with her grandmother. But what would they know; an accountant and a nurse, only her grandmother, a legendary huntress, ever understood her. But that woman is long gone, she like so many others fell prey to the unstoppable onslaught that is Grim.

The ride home is uneventful, though the shame she feels presses down upon her with every breath. Before she knows it she is standing outside of her childhood home. The pressure is even tighter now, what will they say, and what will they think is it even worth walking up the last few steps to open the door. Before she can decide the door swings open, revealing her father on the other side, His face displays a worried expression as he eyes his daughter. "Welcome home honey, was your trip well?"

Anya trudges past him, the look of defeat clear on her face as she addresses him. "The trip was fine dad, though I did not make it into Beacon as I had hoped." As she says these words her shoulders droop with the fatigue of both her battle and the long shameful journey home. "I'm going to go upstairs for a bit, okay?" her voice hitches as she utters these words while climbing the stairway next to the door.

"O..okay dear, we will call you down for dinner when it's ready." Her father responds while paling slightly.

She enters her bedroom with a sigh, looking over it to see nothing has changed. The weight of her failure comes crashing down on her when she sees the picture of her and her grandmother on her night stand. She lets out a choked sob before fighting the tears back down. She may not become a huntress this year but she can train and try again next year right? Only it won't be the same, she failed; her grandmother certainly never did that. For a split second she is almost glad that her grandmother isn't here to see her, but she wishes she could hug her now and make all the hurt go away. For now though being able to see again might help, opening her desk she pulls out an old pair of glasses. They are large clear owl frames from when she was younger, kids used to tease her about these because of their size and old fashioned appearance.

Deciding that she needs to take her mind off of things she gets on her computer and begins working on one of her original stories, this one detailing a tragic tale of two lovers during the Faunas revolution. She pours her own pain into the work, letting herself get taken away as she types. Hours pass by and before she knows it she can hear her father calling her for dinner. Reality closes back in before she can blink, along with her sadness. Switching over to her blog she writes up a quick post telling her followers of her failure to get into Beacon academy and that she might not be posting as much do to her down mood. Getting up from her desk she descends the stairs to her family's dining room to join them for dinner.

Her mother greets her as he enters the room "Welcome home honey, I've made your favorites. How are you Feeling?" a worried expression paints across her face as she addresses her daughter.

"Thanks Mom and I guess I'm doing ok, just a little down." Anya responds with a small scowl while picking at her food.

"You know were proud of you no matter what, right dear?" her father says while looking at her concerned, her mother nodding in agreement.

"Besides maybe you can look into the police department or military forces" her mother suggests with a soft smile "or you could go into dust research, the Schnee Dust Company is always looking for new improvements in dust usage. "

"Yha, thanks mom, thanks dad. I'll think on it." Anya quietly responds, her shoulders drooping with the fatigue of the day.

After finishing her meal and taking a short shower Anya retires to her room for the evening. She lies awake in bed for what seems like hours, thoughts racing through her tired mind. The crunch of tires on the gravel driveway of her home echoes through the silent room, though she heeds it no mind. Through the wooden door of her room she can hear an extremely rapid knocking coming from the front door, though it sounds more like a machine gun than a normal person knocking. She hears her father's muffled voice, though she cannot be sure of what is said, conversing with an unknown voice going a mile a minute. After a couple of minutes she can hear her father coming up the steps to her room.

Knocking quietly her father speaks to her through the door. "Anya, are you awake" he whispers into the room through the door. "There is some one here who would like to speak to you"

Anya drags herself out of bed and pulls on her robe over her pajamas before walking out of her room. Her father stands outside, a pensive expression on his face as he looks down the steps to the front door. Looking down the steps she can see a young man appearing to be in his late teens at the threshold of the home. He is rather disheveled his yellow tie hanging loosely around the popped up collar of a partially tucked in shirt. The glasses on his nose are slightly askew; his hand is nothing more than a blur as he quickly corrects them. Anya glances at her father with an uneasy look before walking down the steps to talk to the odd young man.

As she steps down the final step the man begins to speak quite rapidly. "Good evening miss, are you the one who posts under the screen naming Wilted Flower 99".

The man's eyes are unreadable behind the glare off his round glasses, making Anya slightly nervous. "Uh…uh…uh… yesssss" she nervously responds, While pushing her index fingers together and looking at a most interesting spot on the rug.

The man's hands lunge out with blurring speed to wrap around her on before moving up and down at dizzying speed. "Oh it is most definitively a pleasure to meet you Miss Marin." The man stops shaking her hands and stands up straight again before continuing. "Your stories in the Faunas war and surrounding time are quite well researched I must say." The man clears his throat and produces a small envelope from his shirt pocket. "My name is Bartholomew Oobleck, doctor of history, and professor at Beacon academy."

Anya's head is still spinning from the hand shake as she looks up at professor Oobleck "sorry for asking but… aren't you a little young to be a professor for beacon academy?" she asks curiously.

"My my, I suppose I still have a bit of a, how would you call it, baby face" he responds with a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "No I am in my late twenties now, just aging well is all." He says with a full blown laugh. "But this is good, cautious but curious, good good. Now then on to business, I have been asked to personally ask one student to come to Beacon academy this fall. I do hope you will accept the offer." He says as he hands Anya the letter.

Looking at the professor as if he had grown a second head Anya takes the letter from his hand and begins looking it over. It's a letter of acceptance for Beacon academy; she can hardly believe her eyes when she reads the name at the top as hers. Looking back up at professor Oobleck she stutters out a coherent sentence. "B..b…b…but I failed the entrance exam today. Why would they let me in?"

Professor Oobleck smiles gently as he waves his hand. "Now now Miss Marin, I believe you have what it takes to do well at Beacon academy. Besides we need more people with an eye for history at that school, if you don't learn from the past you are doomed to repeat it." He bows shortly before saying his goodbyes. "I do hope that I see you in class this fall, have a good night"

Anya closes the door behind him and staggers back to her room, the shock of what has happened just now settling in. She is going to beacon. The scream of excitement can be heard clear through the community, reverberating through the clear spring air.


	3. Prologue - S

Simon's theme: Indestructible by disturbed

The loud clangs of metal on stone bounce off the rough hewn walls of the large cavern, creating a ringing cacophony that deafens the scientists and technicians working in room. Standing in the middle of the cavity, light upon by a number of spot lights, stands an enormous dust crystal consisting of a scintillating array of colors. Large drills are being moved around the crystal in preparation for its excavation. The technicians chat excitedly amongst themselves, a crystal of this type has never been encountered before. The power readings are off the charts, such a crystal could power the entire kingdom of vale for years to come, such an asset would be invaluable in the war against grim. The drills begin to whir to life before descending upon the crystal and causing a deafening screech to ring out through the mine. Cracks spider web across the surface of the massive crystal, before its splits into four segments and falls away from its center revealing a raised platform. Lying on the platform are eleven human skeletons arrayed around a single large pale humanoid form. Muscle ripples under its pale skin as it breathes in deeply. A head with long black hair slowly rises up to face the startled lookers revealing a gleaming white reptilian skull beset with a pair of blood red eyes. The figure slowly rises to its full height of seven feet before dropping from the edge of the platform and approaching the assembled scientists; one of them panics and slams the alarm causing a mad stampede for the exit as security drones storm into the chamber.

The assembled drones take aim with their guns and demand for the intruder to identify its self. The large creature walking towards the exit give no response and marches onwards seemingly determined to reach its unnamed goal. As one the drones open fire with a roaring storm of hot lead. The bullets deflect off of a strong aura before a number of shapes appear behind the man proceeding to streak towards the assembled drones and leaving them nothing more than sparking chunks of metal littering the floor. The man continues forward, only stopping to collect a fallen lab coat that is far too small for him. Tearing the sleeves as he forces his arms through he lets the garment settle on his shoulders.

As the man makes his way through the mine towards the exit he comes across the now empty workers quarters where a delicious aroma wafts through the halls causing him to divert his course to into a large room with many tables spread out inside. On the far side of the room lies a now empty serving area still filled with many hot dishes waiting for consumption. Staggering over, he dips his hands into the serving trays coming up with a hand full from the tray marked "Mystery meat". Pulling his hand towards his face to consume the food and slate the ravaging hunger inside of him, he is stopped by the tough material of the reptilian skull covering his face as a mask currently obstructing his mouth. With a hollow sounding grunt the man drops the meat and brings both of his hands to the jaws of the shining white bones over his face. The man feels over the smooth surface of the skull surrounding his head before giving off a short startled gasp. Placing his hands on either side of the nose of the mask, his arms ripple with tension as he squeezes inward causing it to fragment into countless tiny shards before falling to the floor and disintegrating into dust. A strong square Jaw juts forward menacingly from his face which is contrasted by his rather small and pointed nose. Thick eyebrows sit over the top of his large red eyes framed by the cascade of black hair tumbling forward off of his head. Turning back to the assembled food the man hungrily tears into it as if he had been fasting for an eternity, causing scraps to fall to the floor as he rapidly demolishes the serving trays. After consuming all the food he begins to make his way towards the exit only stopping to dispatch the few drones that attempt to intercept his ascent from the mine.

The man finds himself before a large blast door, gleaming in the dim red light of the emergency lighting. Placing his hand against the cool metal the man pushes against it to little avail. Stepping back a few feet he holds his hands out as if grasping a solid object. Fractal lines explode from his palms, forming a wire-frame in the shape of a nodachi before bringing to fill in with a vibrant series of colors. The handle forms first, a blackened steel cross guard with a hilt wrapped in white leather. The blade forms next, a Smokey glass substance that shimmers in the blinking red light. Raising the sword above his head he gives a mighty yell before bringing it down upon the steel of the door and causing it to split in two, allowing the brilliant light of the surface world to spill into the depths of the mine. The light is a blinding searing pain attacking his eyes, causing him to stumble back before retreating fully back into the mine. Patting down the pockets of his lab coat he finds a pair of wide rimmed black sunglasses, quickly throwing them over his eyes and finding relief. Stomping out into the hard packed snow, he takes a moment to survey the barren landscape surrounding the mine. Wind whips over the ground driving loose snow into mounds alongside the now abandoned crew quarters of the mine. There is an unnerving silence permeating the camp, though he pays it no mind as he maneuvers towards the gate at the other end. The snow is deep and the man sinks up to his shins as he plows through the impeding powder, the chill of the cold air and the dampness of the snow melting against his skin neither register nor deters him as he moves. He can feel them, like a nostalgic vibe permeating his very soul, his one true enemy, Grim. Exiting the camp and heading for a thicket of nearby trees he begins his long awaited hunt.

* * *

**_2 weeks later_**

Peter Port had been tracking a powerful alpha Beowulf across the frozen expanse of northern atlas for the better part of a week, and he was getting close. Beacon Academy's professor of grim biology had taken the job during the off season to further stimulate his aging nerves and relive his glory days. His once black hair was starting to fade and his waist had managed to grow a few inches over the course of the last school year. Though he refused to slow his personal hunts during the breaks, such as the one he was on now. The beast he was tracking had decimated a small village before fleeing into the wilderness. His search has led him to the den of the monster, a large cave complex hewn by time into the rough walls of a large Cliffside. What he finds there he does not expect.

A ferocious Howl of pain cuts through the cold morning air, causing the veteran hunter to cover his assaulted ears. Moving into the clearing he finds his quarry locked in a deadly battle with a rather strangely dressed young man appearing to be in his late teens. A shredded and bloody lab coat adorns the warrior's frame while his hands hold an oversized nodachi seemingly made of a foggy glass. The rapidly decaying bodies of the alpha beowulf's pack litter the clearing in droves, creating a nightmarish vista of black flesh and red blood over what would normally be a picturesque winter clearing. The beowulf's claws lunge forward, intent to spill the warrior's blood upon the cold ground. The claws slam against and flickering white aura before being deflected away. The Beowulf's momentum forces its weight to the side before the young swordsman's blade finds the creature's unprotected neck. The beast's head tumbles through the air in a slow arc before landing in the red splashed snow.

Port boldly drives his way into the now silent clearing before addressing the unknown warrior "You there!" his thunderous voice booms across the open ground as he nears the man. "What a show! What is your name my boy?"

The young swordsman's head slowly turns to the loud man making his way across the clearing. Turning to face Port fully, he responds in a slow and deliberate monotone voice "This unit's designation is fifty one tack M zero N(51-M0N), who are you?"

Port's eyebrows stitch together in confusion the response before he quickly shakes his and responds "well that's quite odd, you don't appear to be a drone my dear boy, at least not in how you wield that sword." Port hums to himself in contemplation as he retrieves his scroll from his pocket. "Well all the same, what are you doing way out here wearing nothing but a lab coat, are you not cold?"

The young swordsman's response drones fourth in a stark contrast to the rolling thunder of Port's voice. "Killing grim."

Port hums in thought before pressing on with more questions "where do you live boy, where is your family? Surly you could not have walked all the way out here." As he says this he swings his arm out to gesture at the barren landscape.

"I have no family, my reason to live is to kill grim, and so I kill grim." The young swordsman responds before turning to walk into the surrounding forest leaving a flabbergasted port behind him.

Port looks down at the message on his scroll before snapping up to look at the figure walking away, Jogging to close the distance between him and the young swordsman port calls out to him "Wait my boy where are you going now?"

Slowly turning around the young Swordsman responds with a dull voice "kill grim."

Coming up in front of the young man Port straightens himself out before resuming speaking. "I have an offer to make you, have you heard of beacon academy?"

"no" is the answered returned by the young man

"No? My boy it is only the most prestigious school for hunters and huntress in the whole world" port responds surprise plainly written across his face. The thought that there was someone in the world who had never heard of the school he taught at floored him.

The swordsman responds with a slow deliberate response "what is a hunter?"

"What is a hunter? WHAT IS A HUNTER! HEROS SWORN TO FIGHT THE THREAT OF GRIM WHERE EVER IT MAY MAKE ITS SELF KNOWN, SWORN TO PROTECT THE INNOCENT, UPHOLD THE TRUTH AND FREEDOMS OF THOSE WHO ARE NOT STRONG WNOUGH TO FIGHT! MY BOY HAVE YOU BEEN LIVING UNDER A ROCK?" ports now booming voice severs the calm quiet of the cold air as it rolls though the clearing. His hands gesture about wildly as though he were attempting to fly away into the sky with determination alone.

"Yes" is the simple answer returned to ports question. The swordsman's tone and face shows no reaction to the storm that just exploded no less than five feet away from him.

Port staggers back as if he had been struck by the inane words just spoken. His mustache twitches is agitation before heaving a deep sigh a though he has come to a decision. "Look, you don't have a home to go to, so how about coming with me and joining Beacon academy. We will teach you to be a hunter of grim." Port says while beaming.

"But I already kill grim" is the shallow monotone response given by the sword wielder.

"Yes! And you do a fantastic job my boy, fantastic job" responds Port while gesturing about with his arms. "But! You are simply hunting small fry out in the wilderness like this. If you attend Beacon we can guarantee you the biggest most ferocious grim to fight" Ports hands clasp onto the wide shoulders of the young swordsman before he continues speaking. "You just need to complete four years of training to become a licensed hunter, and if I may say my boy, you could use the education as well!"

"Acceptable" responds the young man with no emotion.

"Great, I've already called in a ride for us." Answers port, now getting use to conversing with the odd boy. "In the meantime let me regal you with the tale that will teach you what it means to be a real hunter!" 51-M0N listens with rapt attention to the tales that are spun as he unknowingly makes his way toward the end of his long journey. Little does he know what adventures and friends he will find in the prestigious Beacon Academy.

* * *

**A/N: thank you for all who have read this far, I ask that if possible you may leave constructive criticism. I have not written sense I left high school over five years ago and feel I am a little rusty so help is appreciated. Just one other quick plug, the comic for this story can be found on my profile page.**


	4. Prolouge - E

Emeralds theme: Under the Bridge by Red Hot Chili Peppers

The dank room of the arena's preparatory area was shrouded on a dim light. The bulb of the only lamp flickering in and out randomly throwing shadows about the room wildly and earning the ire of the rooms occupants. A lone teenager stands before one of the lockers, strapping ammunition over his tattered rags serving as clothing. Looking himself over in the mirror he glowers at the face staring back. Long messy blonde hair hangs down over is eyes while a soul patch of matching hair sits upon his thin jaw. His forest green eyes are dull with fatigue as he closes up the locker. His weapon is the only thing well maintained, an overly simple design consisting of a single break action barrel chambered for thirty caliber rifle cartridges. The wood handle is ornate and well carved, stained a deep cherry red, while the barrel has been chromed and polished to a dazzling finish. Next the youth goes over the ammunition supply contained within his belt wrapping around his body. A multitude of thirty caliber shells tipped with different types of dust designed to engage various effects, form shocking or freezing the target, to absorbing life force, upon striking the target. Drawing five shells tipped with blue crystals, the youth begins to go through simple exercises to familiarize himself with his weapon. Taking an open stance, gun held down by his hip pointing alongside his leg, he lines up his target, set upon the far wall. The guns movement is a blur as his left hand loads the first round, while a snap of his wrist closes the chamber. The bang is earsplitting in the small prep room, but the youth ignores it as his left hand moves to load the second shot before the sound of the first one has even stopped echoing about the room. The process is continued 4 more times in the blink of an eye, the brass casings ejected from the gun falling nearly as one upon the floor. The target is a wreck each shot has delivered a burst of deadly electrical energy into the target, the heat of which has scarred the once red and white steal plate an ugly black. The youth takes a breath willing his aura to repair the small amount of damage done to his ears with the practice session. After finishing his final checks the youth adjusts his tattered rags before walking out to the gate and awaiting his call to battle.

The announcer's voice cuts through that of the roaring crowd, rapidly gaining the attention of the waiting youth "let's hear it for EMERALD ERICKSON!" at this the steel portcullis begins to rise allowing Emerald to step out into the battleground before him.

Bright lights shine into Emerald's eyes, temporarily blinding him as he enters the noisy arena. His feet crunch across the soft sand making up the arena floor as the cheers and jeers of the crowd reach a maddening pitch reverberating off the ancient stone walls and pounding in his ears. Sighing deeply he focuses his mind on the upcoming fight, his foe unknown, the prize money and a place to rest his head are his only motivations. Making a last minute check over his break action pistol Kurushimi to ensure its working condition, he signals for the operator that he has prepared himself. With a loud clang the gate behind him drops, sealing him to his fate, win or die. At the other end of the arena an identical gate begins to slowly clink open, Emerald's heart beating in time with the clangs of the heavy chain. Two red orbs glow in the depths of the darkness, radiating menace and blood lust.

Emerald's thoughts race wildly_ "Is it a Beowulf, no the eyes are to low? An Ursa, no its eyes are bobbing up and down, they tend to be fixed on their prey. Can't be a Deathstalker, or a..."_

The creature of grim stalked out into the light, rearing up and screeching at the assembled crowd as its lithe body entered the light. A white mask made of dense bone covers a wedge shaped head filled with razor sharp teeth. Crimson eyes pulse with rage and bloodlust as they swing to focus on Emerald standing at the other side of the arena. The beast's muscles ripple under a scaly hide as it crouches into an attack position. Its long tail is ramrod straight acting as a counter balance as twin sickle claws on its feet stretch in preparation to shred their prey's flesh from the bone.

_"…Fleshraker"_ Emerald's thoughts seize as he gazes upon his foe. His heart hammering in his chest as fear takes hold.

With an inhuman screech the grim charges across the battle field, kicking up sand beneath its feet with each powerful step. Emerald draws Kurushimi with a flourish, loading up a yellow dust tipped round and flicking the breach closed. Sighting up the charging grim Emerald fires off the loaded pistol, the round screams by the grim detonating against the far wall in a burst of brilliant blue electric sparks. Seeing his shot fail to hit, Emerald draws another four rounds from his belt and rapidly loads and fires as the grim closes the distance. Another four shots, and another four misses, and the grim is upon him lashing out with its fangs and grabbing Emerald's left leg. Tearing through the thin material and Emerald's aura, the teeth puncture Emerald's flesh causing his brilliant red blood to splash the hot sand. Screaming in agony, Emerald is thrown to the ground as the grim lashes out with its terrible sickle claws. Emerald rolls to his feet as the claws dig into the sand where his chest was moments before. Jumping backwards to open the space between the grim and himself while reloading Kurushimi, Emerald panics as he releases another flurry of shots. Four of the rounds go wild the fifth screams into the awning as Emerald is thrown to the ground beneath the terrible beast. Screeching, slashing, clawing and biting, the grim tears into Emeralds flesh over and over dying the ground with his blood. Emerald manages to dodge away again; rolling to his knees and firing another flurry of rapid shots form Kurushimi, striking the grim in between the eyes five times. Giving a slight gurgle as its brain is shocked into a blackened crisp, the grim falls on its side. 

Emerald struggles to his feet while drawing a vial filled with black dust out of his pocket. Staggering towards the gate where he entered from, he pushes the needle into his arm while depressing the plunger. He focuses on the dust now coursing through his tattered body and using it to amplify his body's natural healing, Emerald forces himself to slowly stich back together; each tiny bit causing another burst of agonizing pain. Counting each step he slowly makes it to the gate, he staggers into the dark hall and slumps into the wall, the cool stone feeling pleasant against the burning wounds covering his body. After making his way back to his room in the bowels of the arena's labyrinth and collapsing into the bed he allows sleep to overtake his shattered frame. A single thought pierces through his mind before he gives in completely.

_Alone….. I'm always alone._

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Tap…Tap…Tap…

The noise slowly penetrates the darkness that is Emerald's mind, once again bringing him back to the land of the living. His eyes slowly opening to take in the view of his small bunk room in the basement of the main arena. The bright florescent lights are buzzing away, forcing him to slam his eyes closed again in pain. Groaning as his head continues to throb in pain; Emerald sits up and tries to locate the source of the infernal noise that has woken him. Looking to the far corner he sees a blonde woman sitting on the stool in the corner, the noise is coming from the scroll that she is tapping her stylist against. The woman is wearing a white blouse and black skirt, a leather riding crop hangs off her hip while her eyes continue to glare at the scroll in her hands.

"w…Who are you" Emerald manages to croak out, his voice dry and raspy.

The woman looks up for the first time, as if just now taking note of Emerald's existence. Reaching into a pouch on her side and withdrawing an envelope marked with Emerald's name in swooping stylistic lettering, she places it on the small table in the room. Standing up she brushes herself off before finally addressing the batted youth still lying on the bed.

"Your ride will leave in one hour, I suggest you make a decision soon" as she finishes her statement she turns and strides out of the room leaving a now very confused Emerald alone on his bed.

Reaching over to grasp the letter Emerald proceeds to inspect it. A symbol consisting of two crossed axes over top of a wreath adorns the green envelope, a red wax seal holds it closed. Breaking the seal Emerald skims over the letter that is printed on the clean white paper, causing is eyebrows to shoot up towards his hairline while his jaw drops with astonishment. The letter is an acceptance letter for beacon academy, with this he can become a hunter and stay by her side. Pulling a second sheet of paper from the envelope and reading it over to find that it is directions to beacon. To make it to classes on time he needs to get to the airship docks NOW! Throwing his meager belongings into a small ruck sack Emerald begins his mad dash to the docks half limping half running. This is his chance; he is going to make it, he has to.

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**A/N: that's it for the first arc, we will be getting into the real story next chapter. I thank all the people who have read my story for doing so and ask that if anyone has suggestions on my writtin style to please put them fourth so I may yet improve.**

thank you  
borsniel


	5. Welcome to Beacon – Fire and Steel

The pulsing hum of the Bullhead's twin engines rumbles throughout the bulky ship's cargo bay, creating a white noise like backdrop to the rolling thunder of professor Peter Port's voice as he recants his golden years to his captivated audience. Tales of great bravery and tremendous foes, paint a silver tinged picture in the mind of 51-M0N. A simple and unadulterated world, of heroes and monsters, black and white, right and wrong, This world appeals to 51-M0N as something to strive for. A shift in momentum can be felt throughout the bay as the Bullhead bleeds airspeed in preparation to shift its engines into VTOL configuration and land at the air dock. The frame of the craft shakes as it makes its final approach before the dull thud of the landing gear resting upon the ground resonates throughout the cargo bay. Light seeps through the crack along the outer edge of the door frame as it pulls away from the hull of the ship before proceeding to open fully with a wave of blinding light revealing the majesty of Beacon academy to 51-M0N for the first time. A sweeping cobblestone path leads towards a set of stone arches set in a circular pattern around the perimeter of the school. Great spires reach out towards the sky its self as if challenging some unknown god for supremacy. The schools stained glass windows shimmer like jewels upon the pale grey walls, as though enticing new students into the fold with promises of grandeur.

With a small grunt Port extracts himself from the confines of the ship and begins walking down the pathway before him. Looking over his shoulder he address 51-Mon "Well, come on my boy we don't have all day."

51-M0N is shaken from his temporary stupor before stepping of the Bullhead, his movement causing the craft to shift on its landing gear. Strolling after port with a stiff gait and straight back 51-M0N listens as he begins giving a short tour of the school. After finding a properly sized uniform for the large man, port takes him to quickly meet with the headmaster before going to the enrolment office. While at the enrollment office 51-M0N is given a student id card with his designation on it before being sent to wait in a ballroom before the new student initiation in two days. Hours pass as 51-M0N waits unmoving, simply staring at the far wall. The sun is just cresting in the sky as the far door of the ball room slams open with a clang, the sound reverberating off the walls of the empty room. Roland enters the room swiftly while carrying a medium sized suit case with him as his long coat billows out behind him. 51-M0N tracks his movement to a far corner of the room and proceeds to stare unwaveringly at Roland. Roland throws his case to the ground before lying down with his head on top of it, pulling his fedora over his eyes. A few minutes pass while 51-M0N continues to stare at Roland, proceeding to further unnerve him.

Roland tilts his head upwards to glare at 51-M0N from beneath the brim of his hat before addressing him "the hell are you staring at big guy?" 51-M0N responds by simply by continuing to stare causing Roland to begin to lose his temper. "Well are you just going to sit there staring, or will you at least give me your name?" Roland shouts while sitting up.

"My designation is Fifty One tack M Zero N" 51-M0N's monotone voice drifts across the room while he continues to stare steadfastly at Roland.

"Well that's a mouth full; think I'll just call you Simon instead. Sound good?" Roland asks in a slightly lighter tone, glad he got some kind of reaction out of the large student. Stretching out again Roland continues talking "well were here for the next couple of days is there anything to do in the mean time?"

"Unknown" is the returned response.

"Well this is a combat school, so I'm sure we can find a training room. How about a sparring match to pass the time, cause I don't feel like waiting two days while staring at a wall?" Roland says as he pulls himself to his feet.

"Acceptable" replies Simon while standing as well. "The training rooms are in the west wing, follow me" Simon orders while moving towards the door.

Roland follows Simon out into the winding hallways of Beacon's interior while closing the ballroom door behind him. A short walk taking about ten minutes brings the duo to one of the school's many training facility's large steel door. With no visible effort Simon swings the door open before stepping inside, quietly following behind Roland takes stock of the room. The floor of the large room is made of a grey concrete while the walls appear to be plated with steel that has been marred with a number of dents and large tears, showing the violent history of the room as though they were badges. In the far corner of the room is a small concrete bunker quite clearly meant for observation. Roland walks over to the bunker while Simon moves to the center of the room. Inside the bunker Roland finds a console and small book resting on the desk beside it. Quickly skimming through the small book Roland finds that it is directions for the training room command console. Setting up the console for quick fight Roland steps back out of the bunker before moving to the ring to face Simon. As Roland crosses the ring a shallow thump resonates throughout the room before a holographic number 30 appears in-between the two combatants.

"I set the room up for a quick match, no fancy holographic terrain or anything. The room also has a built in dampener meaning we won't have to have to hold back, sound good?" Roland states with an easygoing voice before a flame ignites over his right eye and an overbearing pressure begins to fill the room.

"Understood" replies Simon as fractal lines begin to appear at his hip forming the outline of a sword and sheath.

The number 30 projected in the middle of the room begins to count down, an audible click echoes through the room with each number. Upon reaching zero a loud buzz cuts through the silence, signaling the beginning of the match. Roland shifts into a defensive position while bringing fourth his flame blade, waiting for Simon to make the first attack. Simon charges across the small space separating the two combatants, drawing is blade only when he reaches striking distance. The blade is pulled from the rather dull sheath in the blink of an eye, its dull steel grey hilt flashing in the light. Roland manages to catch a glimpse of the blade as it moves towards his neck, appearing to be crafted out of a volcanic rock with a serrated edge, the falcata shoots forward. Roland does not have time to react and dodge, the blade is moving too fast, it penetrates through his neck with no resistance emerging out the other side of his head as though it were some sick decoration. A grin slowly splits Roland's face as he begins to laugh slightly. In response Simon moves the sword in a rapid random pattern causing Roland to leap over his head as flames make themselves visible through the slash marks across his upper torso and head.

Roland lands some distance away shouting out an aggravated response as the slash marks close back up as if they had never been there "what is wrong with you, you're supposed to freak out when a sword through the head doesn't kill someone not swing it around like a bloody fan?!"

Simon takes a moment to glance at his blade before turning his attention to Roland "why didn't that work?"

"Neat trick huh, allows me to turn portions of my body into into fire to avoid damage. So what are you going to do now huh?" Roland states in a light tone while lowering his defensive stance to a more relaxed one.

"Different weapon" returns Simon as fractal lines explode into existence behind him, tracing the shape of a barbed javelin wire frame before the details fill in, revealing a gleaming metal tip and dark wood haft. The weapon streaks through the air whistling a screaming intent causing Roland to dive to the floor to avoid the impending attack.

Roland rolls to his feet before jumping into the air, his legs light on fire leaving trails in his wake. Fifteen feet up he skids to a halt seemingly standing on empty air. Roland's left hand shoots forward in the shape of a gun before a flurry of fiery blue bolts blasts down towards Simon. Light crackles with energy tracing the form of a gleaming pale blue sword and shield in Simon's hands with a crackling burst; the shield is thrust forward fiery blue blots splashing against the gleaming blue steel, forcing Simon back on his heels, but causing no damage. More lines of light flicker into existence snapping with energy while tracing a number of chakrams made of a brilliant gleaming green stone before shooting them at Rolland in a screaming flurry of stone. Roland seems to dance on the air itself sliding out of the way of the projectiles causing them to shatter across the far wall. Roland drops to the floor in a crouch, searing blue flame held across his body to protect himself from harm as Simon ready his sword and shield. The two combatants stare each other down before Roland straightens himself out. Taking a deep breath a second blade of flame appears in his left hand, is aura flaring around him brightly before collapsing inwards on his right eye and winking out completely. Roland surges forward in a blur, trading blow for blow with Simon, blades of flame colliding with blue steel as it shatters under the impact and reforms instantly in a burst of light. Both fighters aura depletes rapidly with each blow, Simons blade finds Roland's chest forcing him to slide backwards along the ground before crouching on one knee trying to catch his breath.

Roland struggles up to his feet before letting his flame blades dissipate. Still trying to catch his breath he addresses Simon "well its about time we end this don't you think?"

"Agreed" is Simon's dull response, showing little signs of fatigue.

Roland's right hand lines up with Simon, his index and middle finger pointing towards his target, while aiming along his thumb. Simon's sword and shield vanish one last time, lines of light build his nodachi as Roland takes a defensive stance. Blue flame ignites at the tips of Roland's outstretched fingers building up power that radiates throughout the training room. Roland's shout cuts through the building tension in the room like a knife "destroying first bullet, fire!" A bolt of pulsating blue energy rips towards Simon igniting the air behind it aflame. Simon shifts his weight forward bringing his blade down upon the careening fire ball just before it reaches him. For a brief moment all that can be seen is a blue flash.

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A/N: be sure to check out my page for the web comic pages. and i thank all who have read up to this point. also if you all could offer constructive criticism that would be much appreciated .


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